However, the way she dressed had him puzzled. He shook his head. She was not trying to be feminine at all. She wore a tan buttoned shirt that looked to be a size bigger with a dark blue suit jacket that practically drowned her. Oh, and her baggy slacks were something he hadn’t seen women wear for a while. He groaned. How old was she? The clothes she wore could be in fashion for a sixty-year-old woman. And her ugly shoes... He just hoped they were comfortable.
Were all female FBI agents that unfashionable?
But it had surprised him to see her take such interest in the furnishings of the townhouse, especially the paintings. He’d never dated a woman who knew any historical famous painters. Most of them thought the Mona Lisa was the wife of one of the older US presidents. Being a fan of expensive paintings, that was something he missed talking about with a woman.
He had to admit, though, Whitney was rather sweet when she wanted to be. Even though they were playacting in the car earlier, he knew that if and when she finally gave her heart to a man, she’d give it earnestly. That man would be lucky to have Whitney’s full devotion – as long as he could put up with her stubbornness.
It would be hard for Zack to trust her with his life, especially since she hadn’t shown him yet that she was really trying to protect him. She hadn’t seemed focused, either, and that bothered him. The only time she appeared to be focused was when... His grin stretched wider. Was when she was staring into his eyes as if she’d been lost in a dream.
He pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed his shirt along with the first aid kit, and headed downstairs. The mild scent of chicken wafted through the air, awakening his hunger. He’d been too worried about his injury and the hitman to think about eating. But now he was starving.
When he walked into the kitchen, Whitney stood by the stove, stirring a spoon around in a pan. Sitting on the counter were two cans of chicken noodle soup. He bit back a laugh. He’d bet good money that she didn’t know how to make a home-cooked meal.
“Smells good,” he said.
She jumped and spun around with the spoon still in her hand. Immediately, her gaze fell to his bare chest. Within seconds, her surprised expression softened, and her lips even parted. Once again, he held in a laugh. He’d also bet good money she wasn’t used to seeing a guy without his shirt.
He held up the bandages. “Will you wrap my arm again?”
She blinked her eyes as her stare moved off his chest and up to meet his gaze. She smiled.
“Yes, of course. Sit down.” She pointed to one of the kitchen chairs.
Her hands were gentle as she placed the ointment on his skin. She took great care while rubbing it around his wound before placing the bandage over it. As she wrapped the gauze around his arm, her hands shook slightly. He’d been watching her face, but she hadn’t glanced at him once. Something wasn’t right, and he wished she’d open up and talk to him.
“I’m glad the bullet went straight through,” he said.
“Yes, so am I, or we’d be at the hospital right now.”
She still refused to meet his gaze. Why?
“Thanks for making some soup,” he continued. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I smelled it cooking.”
“I figured you’d be hungry, too. Since we are on the run, I didn’t want to make a complicated lunch.”
She had finished bandaging his arm and turned away. He quickly grasped her arm, which made her finally look at him.
“Why can’t we stay here?” he asked. “Nobody knows I live here since the townhouse is under my mother’s name.”
“I don’t want to give the senator’s hitman a chance to find you. After all, they somehow located you at the airport.” She arched an eyebrow.
“True, but I think it’s because I used one of my credit cards to pay for the flight.” Zack noticed her attention couldn’t stay on his eyes. Her gaze kept dipping to his bare chest. Now he knew why she didn’t want to meet his gaze before.
“No, Zack. You can’t useanycredit cards from here on out. In fact, I won’t be able to use mine, either.”
“Why?”
“Because now they know you’re with me. I’m probably in as much danger as you are.”
He groaned in silence. “Are you kidding me?”
Her expression hardened – a look he was already used to seeing on her. He didn’t want to be chained to her every day until the trial.
“Yeah, I’m kidding...” She rolled her eyes. “Because I would joke over something this important.”
Grumbling, he paced the floor as his mind tried to come up with a way to get her out of his life. Perhaps he could offer to donate money to the FBI to make them take her back. That had worked with other agencies before. Maybe it wouldn’t work because they were the government.
“Let’s eat.”
